by Lord Byron
I trust you like Newstead, and agree with your neighbours; but you know you are a vixen — is not that a dutiful appellation? Pray, take care of my books and several boxes of papers in the hands of Joseph; and pray leave me a few bottles of champagne to drink, for I am very thirsty; — but I do not insist on the last article, without you like it. I suppose you have your house full of silly women, prating scandalous things. Have you ever received my picture in oil from Sanders, London? It has been paid for these sixteen months: why do you not get it? My suite, consisting of two Turks, two Greeks, a Lutheran, and the nondescript, Fletcher, are making so much noise, that I am glad to sign myself
Yours, etc., etc.,
BYRON.
[Footnote 1: On July 10, 1810, the British ambassador, Robert Adair, had his audience of Sultan Mahmoud II, and on the 14th the ‘Salsette’ set sail. She touched at the island of Zea to land Byron, who thence made his way to Athens.
It was in making war against Mahmoud II, the conqueror of Ali Pasha and the destroyer of the Janissaries, that Byron lost his life. The following description of the Sultan is given by Hobhouse (‘Travels in Albania, etc.,’ vol. ii. pp. 364, 365): —
“The chamber was small and dark, or rather illumined with a gloomy artificial light, reflected from the ornaments of silver, pearls, and other white brilliants, with which it is thickly studded on every side and on the roof. The throne, which is supposed the richest in the world, is like a four-posted bed, but of a dazzling splendour; the lower part formed of burnished silver and pearls, and the canopy and supporters encrusted with jewels. It is in an awkward position, being in one corner of the room, and close to a fireplace.
“Sultan Mahmoud was placed in the middle of the throne, with his feet upon the ground, which, notwithstanding the common form of squatting upon the hams, seems the seat of ceremony. He was dressed in a robe of yellow satin, with a broad border of the darkest sable; his dagger, and an ornament on his breast, were covered with diamonds; the front of his white and blue turban shone with a large treble sprig of diamonds, which served as a buckle to a high, straight plume of bird-of-paradise feathers. He, for the most part, kept a hand on each knee, and neither moved his body nor head, but rolled his eyes from side to side, without fixing them for an instant upon the ambassador or any other person present. Occasionally he stroked and turned up his beard, displaying a milk-white hand glittering with diamond rings. His eyebrows, eyes, and beard, being of a glossy jet black, did not appear natural, but added to that indescribable majesty which it would be difficult for any but an Oriental sovereign to assume; his face was pale, and regularly formed, except that his nose (contrary to the usual form of that feature in the Ottoman princes) was slightly turned up and pointed; his whole physiognomy was mild and benevolent, but expressive and full of dignity. He appeared of a short and small stature, and about thirty years old, which is somewhat more than his actual age.”
Byron, at the audience, claimed some precedence in the procession as a peer. On May 23, 1819, Moore sat at dinner next to Stratford Canning (afterwards Lord Stratford de Redcliffe), who
“gave a ludicrous account of Lord Byron’s insisting upon taking precedence of the ‘corps diplomatique’ in a procession at Constantinople (when Canning was secretary), and upon Adair’s refusing it, limping, with as much swagger as he could muster, up the hall, cocking a foreign military hat on his head. He found, however, he was wrong, and wrote a very frank letter acknowledging it, and offering to take his station anywhere”
(‘Journals, etc., of Thomas Moore’, vol. ii. p. 313).
An incident of the voyage from Constantinople to Zea is mentioned by Moore (‘Life’, p. 110). Picking up a Turkish dagger on the deck, Byron looked at the blade, and then, before replacing it in the sheath, was overheard to say to himself, “I should like to know how a person feels after committing a murder.” In ‘Firmilian; a Spasmodic Tragedy’ (scene ix.) the sentiment is parodied. Firmilian determines to murder his friend, in order to shriek “delirious at the taste of sin!” He had already blown up a church full of people; but —
”I must have
A more potential draught of guilt than this
With more of wormwood in it! …
…
Courage, Firmilian! for the hour has come
When thou canst know atrocity indeed,
By smiting him that was thy dearest friend.
And think not that he dies a vulgar death —
’Tis poetry demands the sacrifice!”
And he hurls Haverillo from the summit of the Pillar of St. Simeon
Stylites.
[Footnote 3: For Lord Sligo, see page 100 [Letter 51], [Foot]note 2 . Lord Sligo was at Athens with a 12-gun brig and a crew of fifty men. At Athens, also, were Lady Hester Stanhope and Michael Bruce, on their way through European Turkey. As the party were passing the Piraeus, they saw a man jump from the mole-head into the sea. Lord Sligo, recognizing the bather as Byron, called to him to dress and join them. Thus began what Byron, in his Memoranda, speaks of as “the most delightful acquaintance which I formed in Greece.” From Lord Sligo Moore heard the following stories: —
Weakened and thinned by his illness at Patras, Byron returned to Athens. There, standing one day before a looking-glass, he said to Lord Sligo, “How pale I look! I should like, I think, to die of a consumption.” “Why of a consumption?” asked his friend. “Because then,” he answered, “the women would all say, ‘See that poor Byron — how interesting he looks in dying!’“
He often spoke of his mother to Lord Sligo, who thought that his feeling towards her was little short of aversion. “Some time or other,” he said, “I will tell you why I feel thus towards her.” A few days after, when they were bathing together in the Gulf of Lepanto, pointing to his naked leg and foot, he exclaimed,
“Look there! It is to her false delicacy at my birth I owe that deformity; and yet as long as I can remember, she has never ceased to taunt and reproach me with it. Even a few days before we parted, for the last time, on my leaving England, she, in one of her fits of passion, uttered an imprecation upon me, praying that I might prove as ill formed in mind as I am in body!”
Relics of ancient art only appealed to Byron’s imagination among their original and natural surroundings. For collections and collectors he had a contempt which, like everything he thought or felt, was unreservedly expressed. Lord Sligo wished to spend some money in digging for antiquities, and Byron offered to act as his agent, and to see the money honestly applied. “You may safely trust ‘me’“ he said; “I am no dilettante. Your connoisseurs are all thieves; but I care too little for these things ever to steal them.”
His system of thinning himself, which he had begun before he left England, was continued abroad. While at Athens, where he stayed at the Franciscan Convent, he took a Turkish bath three times a week, his usual drink being vinegar and water, and his food seldom more than a little rice. The result was that, when he returned to England, he weighed only 9 stone 11-1/2 lbs. (see page 127 [Letter 71], [Foot]note 1).
Moore’s account of the “cordial friendship” between Byron and Lady Hester Stanhope requires modification. Lady Hester (see page 302, note I) thus referred in after-life to her meeting with Byron, if her physician’s recollection is to be trusted (‘Memoirs’, by Dr. Meryon, vol. iii. pp. 218, 219) —
“‘I think he was a strange character: his generosity was for a motive, his avarice for a motive; one time he was mopish, and nobody was to speak to him; another, he was for being jocular with everybody. Then he was a sort of Don Quixote, fighting with the police for a woman of the town; and then he wanted to make himself something great … At Athens I saw nothing in him but a well-bred man, like many others; for, as for poetry, it is easy enough to write verses; and as for the thoughts, who knows where he got them? … He had a great deal of vice in his looks — his eyes set close together, and a contracted brow — so’ (imitating it). ‘Oh, Lord! I am sure he was not a liber
al man, whatever else he might be. The only good thing about his looks was this part’ (drawing her hand under the cheek down the front of her neck), ‘and the curl on his forehead.’“
Michael Bruce, with the help of Sir Robert Wilson and Capt. Hutchinson, assisted Count Lavallette to escape from Paris in January, 1816. For an account, see Wilson’s intercepted letter to Lord Grey (‘Memoires du Comte Lavallette’, vol. ii. p. 132) and the story of their trial, conviction, and sentence before the Assize Court of the Department of the Seine (April 22-24, 1816), given in the ‘Annual Register’ for 1816, pp. 329-336.]
145. — To his Mother.
Athens, July 27, 1810.
Dear Mother, — I write again in case you have not received my letters. To-day I go into the Morea, which will, I trust, be colder than this place, where I have tarried in the expectation of obtaining rest. Sligo has very kindly proposed a union of our forces for the occasion, which will be perhaps as uncomfortable to him as to myself, judging from previous experience, which, however, may be explained by my own irritability and hurry.
At Constantinople I visited the Mosques, plains, and grandees of that place, which, in my opinion, cannot be compared with Athens and its neighbourhood; indeed I know of no Turkish scenery to equal this, which would be civilised and Celtic enough with a little alteration in situation and inhabitants. An usual custom here, as at Cadiz, is to part with wives, daughters, etc., for a trifling present of gold or English arms (which the Greeks set a high value upon). The women are generally of the middle height, with Turkish eyes, straight hair, and clear olive complexion, but are not nearly so amorous as the Spanish belles, whom I have described to you in former letters. I have some feats to boast of when I return, which is undesired and undesirable — I always except you from my complaints, and hope you will expect me with the same delight that I anticipate meeting you. You can have no conception of Lord S.’s ecstasy when I informed him of my probable movements. The man is well enough and sensible enough by himself; but the swarm of attendants, Turks, Greeks, Englishmen that he carries with him, makes his society, or rather theirs, an intolerable annoyance. If you will read this letter to — — , you may imagine in what capacity I believe you excel.
Before I left England I promised to give my silver-mounted whip (in your chamber) to Charles. Present it to him, poor boy, for I should not like him to suppose me as unfaithful as his amante, who, by the way is no better than she should be, and no great loss to himself or his family. Hobhouse is silent, and has, I suppose, not yet returned; indeed, like myself, he appears to love the world better than England, and the Devil more than either, who I regret is not present to be informed of this. Do not fail, if you see him (Hobhouse, I mean), to repeat it, and the assurance that I am to him, with yourself,
Ever affectionately,
BYRON.
146. — To his Mother.
Patras, July 30, 1810.
DEAR MADAM, — In four days from Constantinople, with a favourable wind, I arrived in the frigate at the island of Teos, from whence I took a boat to Athens, where I met my friend the Marquis of Sligo, who expressed a wish to proceed with me as far as Corinth. At Corinth we separated, he for Tripolitza, I for Patras, where I had some business with the consul, Mr. Strané, in whose house I now write. He has rendered me every service in his power since I quitted Malta on my way to Constantinople, whence I have written to you twice or thrice. In a few days I visit the Pacha at Tripolitza, make the tour of the Morea, and return again to Athens, which at present is my head-quarters. The heat is at present intense. In England, if it reaches 98° you are all on fire: the other day, in travelling between Athens and Megara, the thermometer was at 125°!!! Yet I feel no inconvenience; of course I am much bronzed, but I live temperately, and never enjoyed better health.
Before I left Constantinople, I saw the Sultan (with Mr. Adair), and the interior of the mosques, things which rarely happen to travellers. Mr. Hobhouse is gone to England: I am in no hurry to return, but have no particular communications for your country, except my surprise at Mr. Hanson’s silence, and my desire that he will remit regularly. I suppose some arrangement has been made with regard to Wymondham and Rochdale. Malta is my post-office, or to Mr. Strané, consul-general, Patras, Morea. You complain of my silence — I have written twenty or thirty times within the last year: never less than twice a month, and often more. If my letters do not arrive, you must not conclude that we are eaten, or that there is war, or a pestilence, or famine: neither must you credit silly reports, which I dare say you have in Notts., as usual. I am very well, and neither more nor less happy than I usually am; except that I am very glad to be once more alone, for I was sick of my companion, — not that he was a bad one, but because my nature leads me to solitude, and that every day adds to this disposition. If I chose, here are many men who would wish to join me — one wants me to go to Egypt, another to Asia, of which I have seen enough. The greater part of Greece is already my own, so that I shall only go over my old ground, and look upon my old seas and mountains, the only acquaintances I ever found improve upon me.
I have a tolerable suite, a Tartar, two Albanians, an interpreter, besides Fletcher; but in this country these are easily maintained. Adair received me wonderfully well, and indeed I have no complaints against any one. Hospitality here is necessary, for inns are not. I have lived in the houses of Greeks, Turks, Italians, and English — to-day in a palace, to-morrow in a cow-house; this day with a Pacha, the next with a shepherd. I shall continue to write briefly, but frequently, and am glad to hear from you; but you fill your letters with things from the papers, as if English papers were not found all over the world. I have at this moment a dozen before me. Pray take care of my books, and believe me, my dear mother,
Yours very faithfully,
BYRON.
[Footnote 1: For Veli Pasha, see page 248 [Letter 131], [Foot]note 1 .]
147. — To his Mother.
Patras, October 2, 1810.
DEAR MADAM, — It is now several months since I have received any communication from you; but at this I am not surprised, nor indeed have I any complaint to make, since you have written frequently, for which I thank you; but I very much condemn Mr. Hanson, who has not taken the smallest notice of my many letters, nor of my request before I left England, which I sailed from on this very day fifteen months ago. Thus one year and a quarter have passed away, without my receiving the least intelligence on the state of my affairs, and they were not in a posture to admit of neglect; and I do conceive and declare that Mr. Hanson has acted negligently and culpably in not apprising me of his proceedings; I will also add uncivilly. His letters, were there any, could not easily miscarry; the communications with the Levant are slow, but tolerably secure, at least as far as Malta, and there I left directions which I know would be observed.
I have written to you several times from Constantinople and Smyrna. You will perceive by my date I am returned into the Morea, of which I have been making the tour, and visiting the Pacha, who gave me a fine horse, and paid me all possible honours and attention. I have now seen a good portion of Turkey in Europe, and Asia Minor, and shall remain at Athens, and in the vicinity, till I hear from England.
I have punctually obeyed your injunctions of writing frequently, but I shall not pretend to describe countries which have been already amply treated of. I believe before this time Mr. Hobhouse will have arrived in England, and he brings letters from me, written at Constantinople. In these I mention having seen the Sultan and the mosques, and that I swam from Sestos to Abydos, an exploit of which I take care to boast.
I am here on business at present, but Athens is my head-quarters, where I am very pleasantly situated in a Franciscan convent. Believe me to be, with great sincerity, yours very affectionately,
BYRON.
P.S. — Fletcher is well, and discontented as usual; his wife don’t
write, at least her scrawls have not arrived. You will address to
Malta. Pr
ay have you never received my picture in oil from Sanders,
Vigo Lane, London?
[Footnote 1: In a note upon the Advertisement prefixed to his ‘Siege of
Corinth’, Byron says,
“I visited all three (Tripolitza, Napoli, and Argos) in 1810-11, and, in the course of journeying through the country, from my first arrival in 1809, I crossed the Isthmus eight times in my way from Attica to the Morea, over the mountains, or in the other direction, when passing from the Gulf of Athens to that of Lepanto.”]
148. — To Francis Hodgson.
Patras, Morea, October 3, 1810.
As I have just escaped from a physician and a fever, which confined me five days to bed, you won’t expect much allegrezza in the ensuing letter. In this place there is an indigenous distemper, which when the wind blows from the Gulf of Corinth (as it does five months out of six), attacks great and small, and makes woful work with visiters. Here be also two physicians, one of whom trusts to his genius (never having studied) — the other to a campaign of eighteen months against the sick of Otranto, which he made in his youth with great effect.